It's nights like this
and it's girls like her
and it's wine like my father's
that make me enjoy drinking alone.
The taste of the locally produced wine
and the failure of love despicably drawn out
and the dry heat of scorching July nights that validate my drunken state.

Understanding that no two headed boy will save me tonight
and the acceptance of lost cigarettes makes this night
even more painful and forlorn.


The shadows envelope the tip of the Tree around nine o'clock this time of year.
The heat stays
and so will I.
Drunken,
nervous,
longing,
afraid.
With no two headed boy to save me tonight.